


(in)dependence.

by esquitor



Series: yet still the shriveling skins. [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Asphyxiation, Biting, Bondage, Breathplay, Dom/sub Undertones, Fingerfucking, Kinks, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rough Body Play, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Verbal Bondage, filthy smut, mild exhibitionism, only slight implication of gothmog/mairon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-14 01:17:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4544556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esquitor/pseuds/esquitor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>five times mairon simply endured it. and one time he didn't.</p><p>well, two times. the sixth time is a technicality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. feel.

**Author's Note:**

> in which mairon discovers his kinks well before learning about the joys of sex itself. mostly because melkor is a terrible bedmate in that regard, even if he _is_ well-endowed. so by 'endured' i mean letting melkor stick that monster up his bum. everything else is peachy. mostly.
> 
> completely and utterly self-indulgent. an exploration of their relationship, both personal and professional, through the eyes of their sexual encounters. or an attempt to, in any case.
> 
> not everything that's tagged will be in every chapter but they'll all show up eventually...
> 
>  **disclaimer:** this is not meant to be a healthy relationship and i probably do not endorse it. there _is_ a happy (and smutty, but lbr every chapter is going to be porn with plot) ending and they get through the worst of their.. problems. at least, until melkor is kidnapped, anyway. haha.

The first time they lie together is a hundred years after Mairon sets foot on the land known as Middle-Earth. Again. A hundred years after Melkor destroys the Lamps, a hundred years after Mairon pledges his loyalty, his devotion. When Melkor asked for _proof_ , Mairon refused and removed himself to the depths of Utumno, into the forges. He did not join Melkor for such things. He did not join to _entertain_ him, to cater to his every whim and fancy.

He is here to do work. He's here to help supply Melkor's armies, to fortify his walls, carry out his war plans. He's here to bring order to Melkor's chaos, to watch his power and _experience it_ , not to... play around in his bed. His proof is his servitude. Yet Melkor would ask the one thing of him that he did not wish to perform.

After being promoted to lieutenant, he thought ( _hoped_ ) the Vala had given up. Chosen someone else. Gotten his priorities right. Yet throughout these past years, the advances had not stopped. They... diminished. Became more insidious, more sly.

And then they weren't.

Less _may we_ and more _we will_.

And Mairon learned to be more creative in his refusals, since Melkor rarely took a simple _no_ as finality, and he dared not attract his master's fickle wrath. Even though all he wanted to do was reject it completely. It became clear that his enjoyment or willingness mattered little, but that only made him fight all the more to avoid it.

Now, though. Now he walks down these halls with a sense of trepidation.

To be sent for could mean a multitude of any such things. Of what he has seen: rebuke, questioning, and praise among them. Of what he himself has experienced: only for the purposes of business. After the first time his master requested his presence for a _private_ matter, it was a rare sight to see Mairon answering any of Melkor's summons. He spoke in their minds and, more often than not, ignored Melkor's words. Especially back when he was still doing little more than beating metal into shape, making sure none of the Vala's soon to be servants would be gouged by the enemy. Too badly.

When Melkor reached out him that afternoon with all the sullenness of a doomed man, there was little that Mairon _could_ do but answer him. Oblige. Attend.

He has no _battle gear_ for such things. Nothing that would give him an edge, an advantage, something to turn the tide in his favor. Except that he does. He knows what would. But to wear it would be to acknowledge that it exists, to give credence to his master's apparent.. infatuation. _Obsession_. And the last thing Mairon wants to do is encourage him in it.

His dress is formal, then, everything pressed and cleaned and immaculate-- or as immaculate as one could get in a place like Utumno. But where cloth and leather is sub-par, the metal is _pristine_. Every pin, every buckle, every length of thin chain shines and shimmers as water does under light, gloves and greaves glittering with every twisting movement, every clack of his boots along the floor.

Mairon doesn't mean for it to catch Melkor's attention the moment he steps through those doors, but it does. All those glimmering bits working like flame to a moth. And all he can do then is carry on, stride into the room and approach the massive dais with all the pride and poise of a stately official. Because that is what he is.

And before Melkor, seated on his iron throne, Mairon falls to one knee, a flick of his arms sending the black cape to settle about him in a pool of darkness.

"By your summons, my Lord."

If his master is amused, or pleased, or surprised by this action, he does not let it show. And Mairon does not let it show that he expected a reaction.

"This should not bear repeating, Mairon."

He lifts his chin just slightly, raising his gaze in a manner that only subtly questions the meaning of those words.

"Do you recall the first time you knelt before me like this?" Melkor heaves himself off the throne with a gravelly breath, towering even more. "It was when you took your oath to me. When you swore yourself into my _service_."

"..So it was."

"And have you?" The Vala comes to a stop upon the step just above Mairon, torchlight gleaming against his black armor. "Have you served me well, Mairon?"

"I have served, my Lord. My performance would be your discretion."

" _Master_." The shadow over him darkens as Melkor leans down, crouches on one knee in a mockery of Mairon's own state. "You should call me _master_."

Mairon bows his head lower, and not entirely in earnest. "Of course, master."

The Vala's gauntlet-enclosed hand is warm, hot, and cold all at once. Ice that burns, fire that fills. A sliver of darkness that consists of everything and nothing touches Mairon's face, curls under his chin and prompts him to look Melkor in the eye.

"And you _have_ served me well, Mairon. But not in all ways."

He licks his lips and stands at Melkor's behest, the slight pressure on the soft palate under his jaw. "..I have served in every way I am able to."

"No. Not _every_ way."

"Please," Mairon says quietly, "do not ask this of me."

" _I do not ask it,_ " Melkor growls, trapping Mairon's face between his hands, and his eyes widen with a stifled gasp. "As your lord and _master_ , I _demand_ it!"

And in whirling steps, Melkor grabs him by the shoulder and reverses their positions, turning Mairon to face the throne and shoving him onto it. He only barely registers it quickly enough to brace himself on the armrests before the points of Melkor's cuirass digs sharply into his back, arms snaking around his waist, and his face burrows into Mairon's neck.

"I demand it, Mairon. I order you to relinquish yourself to me, as you've sworn to."

Melkor's hand rummages between the ties that hold his robe closed, groping through his undershirt.

" _All of you._ "

Mairon shudders.

"..All of me."

It is not quite a question.

"All of you for me. I will accept nothing less."

Metal-tipped fingers catch on the skin under his clothing and he twitches, pushing back against Melkor, to which his master responds with an indecorously decorous groan. Mairon imagines he can still see that shining aura about him, what the Vala looked like before they looked like this. Before sight and sound. Before there was anything between them.

(There is _nothing_ between them. _Nothing_.)

"For what reason did you join my cause, Mairon? Why do you stay?"

 _For your power,_ he doesn't say. _For your strength. Your wonder._

"You said you were mine. You gave yourself to me, Mairon."

He stiffens in Melkor's hands, under his wandering fingers, and nods. 

"..I did. I am." And with his own strength he leans back, arching into the hot breath against his neck. "Yours, master."

The Vala is impatient at best, restless when he isn't resting, when there are things he _wants_. And he has wanted Mairon for the past century. He is frantic, eager, _desperate_ , tearing off the cape and sinking claws into his robes to pull it open with nary a care for etiquette-- or seams.

"Wait," Mairon gasps, shuddering in the cool, damp underground air that hits his chest. " _Here_ \--?! Melkor- someone could--!"

As if on cue, a low rumble fills the halls leading to the throne room. Balrogs in procession for a meeting that was set up days ago. Melkor snarls, steel fingers digging into him; and with a flick of his other hand, all the doors slam shut, latches falling with an echoing _thud_. A sizzle of _power_ and shimmering color over the walls ensures that none will be able to open them, leaving the Valaraukar to dally outside. Darkness falls as the torches gutter out, except for two braziers that flare to life on either side of the dais.

And Melkor lips at his ear again, wet and hot. " _No one will._ "

He is not gentle, he is not _teaching_. He is simply taking. And when he pulls down the back of Mairon's trousers, there is little to no prelude to when he shoves all of himself inside with only spittle to slick the way.

It burns, long and deep and forever, but Mairon has burnt worse. The only sound he makes is a gaping, wordless, _wheezing_ gasp.

"I have waited for this.." he growls into Mairon's neck, breath hot against his skin. Drags the back collar of his clothing down, baring more of him to his master, and Melkor's breath soughs out in a heady groan as though the mere sight of his trembling is pleasing. "I have waited so long. You have denied me- I have _let_ you deny me for _so long_... Now, Mairon, now you are _mine_."

Melkor pulls out and slams in repeatedly, grunting and groaning, growling harshly. His sounds are bestial, every thrust grinding against his insides, against his _fea_ , every jolt tearing another spark of fire, of lightning, of.. of _pleasure_ from the teeth embedded in his neck. _That_ is what finally urges him to submit to Melkor's use; the biting and nibbling, the points of Melkor's gauntlets bruising his hip and shoulder, scraping and scratching red lines into his skin, teeth dragging over the side of his neck. That is what makes him tighten up around Melkor, what makes him _loosen up_ , what makes him stumble to his knees on the throne, what lets Melkor plow even deeper into him.

His own cock twitches, bouncing untouched against his belly. Melkor doesn't offer and Mairon doesn't ask, but every now and then a good angle sends sparks erupting from his gut and skittering up his spine. Occasionally he feels something else, something good and warm and _full_ deep inside him, and his stomach lurches once in a stuttered breath between his teeth. Melkor takes it as incentive to take him faster, harder, rougher, leaking pre-come as a copious lubricant.

It burns less, then. Slippery, slick, and the sounds of skin beating against skin loud in his ears. It feels almost good enough to think he might be getting something out of this engagement.

Then, with the groan of one tasting bliss for the first time, Melkor's hips fall still against Mairon's, releasing into him like a shattered dam and flooding him with surge upon surge of heat. And while Mairon is still flaccid, there is a thin stream of seed that speckles the black iron seat, from the fullness of Melkor inside him, the tingling, delightful pain of the Vala's teeth in his flesh.

He imagines this is how it is. How it's meant to be, how it will always be. When Melkor lets out a final groan and pulls out of him, Mairon stutters out a moan of his own, half in discomfort and half in delight.

And then the darkness is receding, torches sputtering back to life, and he is prying his fingers from the metal throne, trying to pull his clothes back on in a way that looks remotely proper. Ignoring the stares of the Valaraukar as he exits the room, their exaggerated sniffs and amused rumbling, the relaxed and sated chuckle of his master now reclined in his throne again. Trying not to give any hint to the bruises on his hips.

If it's like this... he can endure it. For a while. Until Melkor finds a new thing to enjoy.


	2. taste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and thus begins his oral fixation. sort of. melkor's fixation on mairon's oral... cavity, as it were.
> 
> as a side-note: in this verse, ainur 'bodies' are really more 'flesh forms' than actual living bodies. meatsacks that don't require maintenance. or air.
> 
> or maybe i just want an excuse for extended extreme deepthroating, eh. i dare someone to fight me for it.

The second time is but a few days after the first. He'd been hoping it wouldn't be so soon.

The war room is emptied again, and Mairon goes over a summary of the meeting, as always. To himself, mostly. Then he will give Melkor an overview and they will finalize the tasks, send out notices for amendments, and begin delegating what needs to be done. As always. Like clockwork.

Sometimes Melkor would try to suggest a more _in-depth_ discussion after the meeting. Sometimes he would suggest they put some time in for that discussion _right now, right here, right on this table_ , and Mairon would always sigh and sweep out of the room with a stack of papers in his arms. He always makes sure there's something to occupy his hands with. So that Melkor can't occupy them.

But that was before he conceded to this. And before they started trying to use less paper, with the forests in Utumno's immediate reach starting to dry up for good.

Melkor gestures with a hand, and like before he hears the doors shut loudly, the locks clicking into place. He stops mid-sentence and looks around, his gaze sliding back to his master with wrinkling suspicion. This time there is no hiss of power, of magic, no seal to keep anyone from breaking down the doors. It's more a demonstration of how confident Melkor is that Mairon won't try to escape than anything.

"Come here, lieutenant." Melkor splays his legs wide in his seat, slouching in his chair at the head of the table, pushed away from it just enough for a body to fit atop him. Coincidentally. Even out of his armor, his the pair of swept back horns on his head are intimidating enough to all but the most intrepid servants. "Kneel for me."

"There is still work to be done, master." Mairon sighs. "It is hardly the time or place for such a thing."

The Vala groans lowly in satisfaction, shifting in his seat in a way that even Mairon has a hard time looking away from. And he can feel the rumbling of his chest even from three chairs away. "I love it when you call me that, lieutenant."

"Everyone calls you that."

"Yes, but _you_... I have only dreamed of this since I saw you. Hearing that word from your lips, twisting it from your throat as you writhe beneath my hands."

He stares at Melkor as though his master has grown another head (and not in the good sense). Then smiles, thinly, and strides closer, leaning over the arm of his chair to whisper--

" _Master_ ," Mairon enunciates with a hiss into Melkor's ear, and the Vala rumbles with another groan. "I.... have fortifications to inspect."

Melkor's grin falls.

"And then I am expected down in the forge and quarries soon for several weeks."

".. _Weeks_?"

"They have been trying to request my presence for some time now. We went over this during the meeting, master. _Work to be done._ "

"Did we? I do not recall any mention of _weeks_." Melkor growls lowly, reaching out for Mairon's hips and turning him swiftly against the table. "Then I will have you _now_ , before you leave."

"Wait, I--" His smile disappears as he braces himself against the edge of the table biting into his waist, shuddering under Melkor's hands groping upwards under his robes. The back of his trousers are pulled down to expose his bare skin, and the cool air makes him shiver, warmed only by the volcanic breath of his master. " _Melkor_ \--"

Mairon twists around again before the Vala's questing fingers come any closer to their goal, and he receives a low chuckle in response.

"Did you want to ride me instead?" Mekor draws him closer still, hands kneading the flesh of his buttocks. It's not until he starts spreading them that Mairon makes a sound, twitching away with a stuttered gasp. "How _daring_ you've become, lieutenant."

His master growls again, thumbs hooking into and pulling his trousers down lower, but Mairon grabs his wrists, stopping them from going any further. Melkor's hands dig in like claws then, snarling, one of them snaking around to prod dryly at his entrance. Mairon lurches forward over Melkor's shoulder, eyes wide, biting down on his lower lip when he's breached.

"No- stop--!" The words choke in his throat, although Melkor's finger does stop digging in, and for that Mairon is grateful. " _Please_. Do not..."

The Vala's expression is incensed and confused, frustrated, but willing to remove his fingers from the clenching hole. The discomfort in his brow smooths out.

" _Mairon_..."

Quickly he pulls his trousers back up, and before Melkor can snarl another command (and thankfully, because each one is rubbing against Mairon's mind and _fea_ in the best and worst possible way), he drops to his knees. Just as Melkor had ordered earlier.

Melkor's mood lifts suddenly then, not to a high or a pleasure, but to surprise. And as Mairon settles between his master's legs, he feels the same thing. Swallowing, he watches Melkor tug on the drawstrings of his trousers with an expectant look on his face. For a moment, Mairon wonders to himself if this was actually what his master intended when he said _kneel for me_. 

It must be, for he hasn't been given any order for him to stand again.

(But then again, even if it wasn't, he's quite sure Melkor would hardly complain.)

Leaning in, Mairon presses a trail of kisses down the Vala's abdomen, feeling the skin shiver under his lips. His master lets out a sigh, heavy and content and anticipating, hands carding through his hair and curiously thumbing along the crystalline protrusions on his forehead. Even that gentle touch covers his vision with a faint haze, tingling down his spine.

He hasn't the heart to tell Melkor not to do that. Yet.

Mairon takes over the task of undressing his master, and with one swift tug, Melkor's cock is free from its confines, smearing a line of fluid along the side of Mairon's neck and jaw with heat enough to melt stone and steel. Or so it had felt when it was inside him days ago.

When he reaches the patch of curled hairs, though, he stops. Melkor has never done this to him before (of course not, they've barely even lain together more than once) and Mairon does not make a habit of sleeping around or observing others' habits and activities. Or exploring his own.

"What's wrong, lieutenant?" The Vala sounds almost smug. "Don't you know how to proceed?"

Frowning, Mairon sits back just slightly to recollect himself and consider how to.. continue. If it would even fit the way Melkor is intending it to. It certainly _looks_ as large as it had felt inside him, already nodding to attention and seemingly twitching to further hardness just from being observed. Yet Melkor bears no shame; instead his grin widens, and he cants his hips just enough that his cock seems to be pointing right at Mairon, as though to taunt him.

"Allow me to provide a hint, Mairon." The Vala's hands brush over the crystalline growths again and Mairon cannot help but moan softly, even as his head is guided into place, the head of Melkor's cock bobbing like treat dangled before his face. " _Start licking_."

A treat indeed. Tentatively Mairon touches his tongue to the bead of liquid at the tip, furrowing his brows from the oddly faint sweetness. He tries not to think about how exactly Melkor came to acquire this sort of knowledge, for he thinks he knows now what it is that his master wants.

Instead he dips his head lower, lapping down the side of Melkor's cock, mulling over the musky scent and fleshly taste. The heat of it tingles pleasantly against his lips, inviting him to feast on it all the more. And the smell... he would've expected it to be repulsive, for something that has been up his and Valar knows how many other rear ends. But instead it smells and tastes like.. _Melkor_. Like fire and ashes, burning ice. Like he can taste Melkor's _fea_ through this obscene rod of flesh.

Mairon wonders if Melkor did that on purpose.

"Why, Mairon, if I didn't know better, I would think you were.. enjoying this."

"That is... impossible..." The words come out slurred, and he trembles under every stroke and caress of Melkor's hands over his horns, every touch translating to a quivering hum in his _fea_. His eyes are just this side of unfocused when they look up at Melkor again.

"Oh, it's quite possible." Melkor's voice is low, rumbling. Sweet music. Dense muscle trembles under his cheek where his head rests on the crux of Melkor's thigh, his hands long forgotten where they're curled in the fabric of Melkor's pants.

It must have been one of the other Maiar. He can't imagine Melkor taking anyone else into his mouth.

"Stop--" Melkor's thumb roughs over the base of his horns, sending a flurry of sensations gasping down his spine that he cannot help but succumb to. "Stop touching.. there.."

"Tsk. I think not." One more hard rub and Mairon whimpers into an all but pliant state, allowing his head to be lifted up and angled until the tip of Melkor's cock touches the crease of his lips. "Now, _open your mouth_.."

And he does. Obediently. Melkor grasps him by the horns and pulls him down over his cock, plunging it into his mouth and down his throat. Next thing he knows, he's groaning, choking around a very, very deep throat full of throbbing flesh, eyes wide and vision obscured by the Melkor's quite hirsute groin. Yet he doesn't gag, or struggle to escape, even though his jaw is already starting to ache from how wide it's been forced open. Instead he feels an inexplicable _desire_ for... more.

Melkor lifts his head up, his cock sliding out of Mairon's throat and resting heavy on his tongue, and pushes him down again. Up until the tip of it kisses his lips, and back down until that same tip bumps into the back of his throat. Melkor himself doesn't move, though; it's Mairon that moves. His head, his body, all of him coming forward as though he could take Melkor further into his mouth.

But then Melkor is standing and Mairon is kneeling straighter up, higher up, Melkor holding him still while thrusting into his mouth. Frantically, frenetically, so quickly that he wouldn't even have time to breathe, if he needed to breathe. Every rolling beat down his throat sends a wave of _something_ , some liquid fire through Mairon's body that sets him shivering, trembling, sets his throat clenching and convulsing around Melkor's cock in a way that makes his master moan and hold him there for a long moment, a keening whine whispering and gulping through his nose.

"How wonderful you feel, Mairon," Melkor grunts then, rolling against his tongue. "How wonderful you _sound_."

He shoves in deeper still, until Mairon's nose is crushed against Melkor's pelvis, until his lips stretch wide around the base of it and his chin bumps against the balls hanging below. Until the blunt head scrapes deep inside and the pressure of it spreads his throat wider open, it is...

 _It's delirious_.

Mairon hums his reply silently around Melkor's turgid member, moaning in their minds, and meeting his master's eyes as he swallows instinctively.

The Vala comes then with a snarl, spurting in jets down his throat with a momentous groan, hips bucking forward and sending his cock in just that much more-- and Mairon doesn't even notice. Doesn't notice the strands of spittle and seed dripping down his chin and onto his knees. Doesn't quite register the wet flesh slipping out from between his lips, or the glutinous bubbles in his mouth, on his tongue, sweet and salty and slick. Doesn't realize how ragged his breathing is once his airways are finally unstoppered. How lightheaded the whole ordeal has left him, how quickly it fades once he's breathing again.

Pity. He rather likes that feeling.

And it isn't until he looks up and follows Melkor's gaze down again that he realizes, he's made a little mess of himself in his own trousers, if the damp spot there is anything to go by. He still feels warm. Tingly. On edge.

Numbly, though, he's aware of the feeling of fingers in his mouth, dipping inside and digging deep into his throat with no resistance, swirling around in the cocktail of release and saliva inside. His throat constricts around them, and Melkor groans.

"Swallow it now."

The order presses against his mind and he obeys without question, the viscid mixture sliding down to join the rest in his gullet.

" _Stand_ ," says his master hoarsely, his eyes alight with fire and hooded desire. "Bend over the table for me, Mairon."

And he does so, just as obediently as he had opened his mouth when Melkor said to, elbows braced against the surface. And sure enough Melkor is pulling down his trousers, fingers prodding at his entrance again. Only this time their way is slicked and eased by what they had taken from his throat, slipping in easily and pulling him open.

Then Melkor is leaning over him, fingers bruising into his waist and hips, and shoving inside with a wet squelch, grunting and groaning against the skin of Mairon's back. He's not really aware of _when_ Melkor comes inside him, only that he does, and that when he pulls out, it leaves him stretched and full and empty all at once, with the sound of blood rushing and roaring in his ears.

..Or maybe that's Melkor.

The haze is starting to lift by the time Melkor turns him around again, pressing him down until he's lying half on the table, kissing and licking the remains of his own spend from Mairon's mouth, sucking it off his tongue with apparent relish. It doesn't take long for clarity to dawn again, though Melkor's hands keep him in place, and the ministrations are.. not entirely unenjoyable.

(But the thought, the _fact_ , of Melkor tasting _himself_..)

When he's released, Mairon wipes his mouth with the back of his hand after getting to his feet, frowning at the once again smug expression on Melkor's face. He pulls his trousers back up, ignoring the cooling dampness in the front and what's starting to run down the back of his legs, and the wet patches on his knees. He'll definitely have to get cleaned and changed before he leaves.

"Master," he says quietly, taking a corner of his sleeve to make sure nothing else is left on his face. He still feels warm. Flushed. "Never touch my horns again."

Melkor leans in closer, grinning like a sated dragon. He licks at what Mairon can only imagine is a spot he missed earlier. Or tries to, because Mairon puts a hand over his mouth and leans away, his breathing once again steady as it always was. He regards his master with a steely gaze. 

"..And do not _ever_ put that in my mouth again."

In the face of Melkor's lingering, salacious grin, Mairon swallows and turns to leave.

"I will see you in three weeks' time, my Lord."

"Very well." Melkor's rumbling laughter as he falls back into his chair follows him out of the chamber. "I look forward to doing this again when that week is over, lieutenant."

His tongue still tastes of salt. Life.

 

And he forgot to finish what he was doing before Melkor so helpfully decided to distract them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know if i can ever eat a popsicle again.
> 
> you know what happens when you tell melkor 'don't do that'? he does it. repeatedly. good job, mairon. you've just ensured yourself a lifetime of horn-grabbing face-fucking.


	3. hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fixed a line in the previous chapter so it made a bit more sense with this one. 'one week' is now 'three weeks'
> 
> if you thought he doth protesteth too much then... well. new record. breaking. gets a teensy bit sad and Real at the end tho.

"You know, Mairon," Melkor laughs, weeks later, "I think you enjoy it more when I fuck your mouth than when I fuck your ass."

His response is a muffled moan into the bedspread, head shoved back down when he tries to lift it. Though his vision is no longer hazy and his mind is clear, the smell of Melkor's seed stuck to his face and chest, the lingering taste of it in his mouth, keeps him from moving, keeps him still under the beat of Melkor's hips against his own.

"What was that? Did you want to swallow my cock again?"

" _No_ ," Mairon gasps, just barely managing to lurch a few inches forward and away from Melkor. Only to be yanked back with nothing but bruises on his waist to show for it. The sound he makes when his rear meets with Melkor's hips again is guttural, dripping with submission and obeisance, but he does not fear the Vala's rebuke, nor his punishment.

"Is that a yes I hear?" Melkor is laughing again, groaning as he shoves in deep and holds himself there. "Once I come in this hole of yours, I'll take your throat again. How would you like that?"

"No, _no_ , I would not--"

"But you enjoy it _so much_ , Mairon," the Vala says, grinding into his backside with vigor. "You came with my cock in your mouth last time. And you came again this time. _You love it_."

He does. He'll admit to that much. Or rather, he won't admit it, not to anyone but himself.

That doesn't mean he _wants_ it.

"No, Mairon? You do not deny this fact?" The words are hot in his ear, along his neck, and a hand kneads the flesh of his buttocks. "Then let's call someone in to take care of your mouth while I busy myself with this here."

"No--" This time he takes a heaving breath and tries not to ask Melkor to stop all entirely. "No, just-- just you, master. Only you. Only--"

A gasp. A spark of something, some fire, there one moment and gone the next. _He likes that._ But he doesn't dare ask for it, for more.

"I'm flattered, dear servant of mine." Grunting, Melkor hooks an arm around his neck and lifts Mairon up onto his knees and flush against the Vala's chest. The other hand grabs firmly onto one horn, rendering him once again immobile and so, so pliant, so receptive that he can hardly even claw at Melkor's arms to get free. " _Flattered_. But I would _love_ to see you like that... a cock in your mouth, one in your ass. Coming as we both fuck you, without either of us ever touching your cock. Then we could switch places, two of us to give you a belly-full of our seed."

Mairon's breath comes out in a dry, heaving sob, stuttering with every slow and gentle rock of Melkor's hips. He can't deny how pretty the picture is that Melkor's words are painting.

"For me, Mairon." The Vala's teeth scrape over his neck, gnawing at the pulse under his skin. Licking away a streak of saliva and seed. "For your master. You're mine now. You'll do this for me, won't you. I can even call in someone you like. "

"No," he whispers. He's starting to think Melkor just likes hearing him say that. _No, please, don't._ It's a wonder he ever bothered to convince Mairon of this at all. "Please, no."

"No?" Melkor's mind invades his, coiling around him like a snake, just as his cock invades Mairon's body, over and over and _over_. "I'm disappointed in you, Mairon. Where is your loyalty now?"

The grip around his neck tightens and Melkor starts moving faster, harder. Mairon's breathing grows harsher, heavier, laced with a low, low whine.

Then suddenly the pressure is gone and he's shoved forward once more, onto his hands. Melkor grunts against his back, pounding the fog from his mind and moaning into the space between shoulder blades, arms wrapped tight around his waist.

" _Here it is_ ," the Vala growls into his back, nipping at the bony ridge of his spine and shoulder, and then pulling away. "Here, like this. With your legs spread _wide_ for me--"

And as he says it, Mairon feels himself doing just that, legs being nudged further apart with every beat until Melkor is fitting comfortably between them.

"--Raise your hips, _lieutenant_."

The sudden use of his title leaves Mairon groaning, the sound of it searing through his lungs like a pride damned. He barely manages to gasp out _how_ in response. Instead of explaining, Melkor pushes down on his lower back until it dips and bends, leaving only his hips and rear to stand in the air. It makes the stretch even more intense, makes every push and pull deeper than it is. (Or at least, he hopes.)

"Here is your loyalty, _Mairon_." Melkor's voice is husky, groaning as he speaks, unrelenting in speed and force. What feels like a thumb presses between the cleft of his cheeks, right around the edge of his widened hole where Melkor's cock is still embedded. "I can see it clearly now."

Mairon's eyes widen with a strangled whimper as realization dawns on him, what it is _exactly_ that Melkor sees. But before he can protest, Melkor impales him once more and holds there, spilling over with a sound that seems to shake the very walls of the room, if not every bone in Mairon's body.

He'll never admit to how the heat makes him feel, curling in his gut like a glass of wine or a hot meal. Like his first taste of arousal.

In the moments like these, he starts to think it isn't so bad. That in spite of everything they do, the prisoners they take and creatures they've mutated, serving Melkor isn't as awful as the Valar claim it would be. That Mairon would be spelling his own doom if he followed Melkor, that his end would be cruel and merciless.

This isn't cruel. And it isn't merciless.

"..Master?" His voice is hoarse and his fingers cramped from gripping so tightly, and his toes crack when they uncurl. He thinks his throat is starting to bruise, but aside from those he is no worse for wear.

With another thundering groan, Melkor bucks deeper into him. Mairon lets out another choked whine into the mattress, and the spark of fire inside him flourishes just briefly. His master slumps over with a loud exhale, and Mairon has little success in trying to dislodge him. He's heavy enough that Mairon loses his balance and falls forward completely, still connected to his master.

"Mairon." The tone is more gruff now, but not cruel. Not angry as he always fears, and not goading as it was moments ago. It's almost... gentle. "..Welcome back."

"I.. Thank you. My Lord."

"You didn't finish going over the papers before you left."

Unable to roll over, Mairon simply twists around in order to see Melkor out of the corner of his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"The meeting. The day before you left for inspections."

"Oh." Mairon lets his head drop back onto his arms with a muffled sigh. "The one where you _interrupted_ our post-meeting? Yes, I do recall leaving that one unfinished."

Melkor makes a muffled sound into his back and lets even more of his weight drop down on Mairon, trapping him underneath.

"..Please tell me they are not still waiting to be completed."

"I've set your brethren to work, Mairon. Worry not. Everything discussed in that meeting has been dealt with."

Mairon sighs in relief, having feared the worst. Sometimes he feels like he worries more for the progression of Melkor's kingdom and army than Melkor himself.

A nudge comes at his side and Melkor raises himself enough slip out of Mairon, urging him to roll over. He is confused... but he has no reason not to oblige, suspecting nothing of his master.

(When did he stop being afraid?)

 

( _Never_.)

"I went over your notes, Mairon." Mairon blinks, looking up into Melkor's face, twisted in confusion and a touch of anger, and his breath stops. "They mentioned only several days to inspect the fortifications. _Days_ to advise your Maiar in the forge and quarries, just as I thought. And yet you claimed three weeks, and were out there for _far_ longer."

His eyes widen and he cannot stop himself from squirming just slightly under Melkor's weight, even though he knows he cannot get free. Melkor's arms are prison bars keeping him in place, and his gaze is a lock. There is no key.

Instead, he turns his head aside.

"Come now, Mairon. Why do you shy away?" Melkor's voice vibrates through him as tremors through stone. The hand at his side comes up to curl against the side of Mairon's face and he falls still, tries his hardest not to flinch. "Tell me. Why were you gone for so long?"

"..There was a-- an incident," he says quietly, avoiding Melkor's eyes. "Several incidents. Rock slides. They took longer than expected to circumvent."

"An.. incident." Melkor's expression is inscrutable, but for the wrinkle in his brow. "For ten weeks."

"We tried to finish as quickly as we could." He swallows, looking up again with but a measure of fear. Of what, he isn't quite sure yet. "..Please, Melkor-- _master_ , we.."

"We what?" The Vala presses a thumb against the plush of Mairon's lips, presses until he's forced to either open his mouth or risk a bruise. Melkor's thumb slips in and swirls around in his mouth, along his tongue, eventually gripping onto his lower jaw and holding it open. "Are you lying to me, lieutenant?"

He can't shake his head, or even move his jaw.

"Were you trying to escape just now?"

Mairon tries, but all he manages is a quick jerk of his head from side to side, drawing a raspy breath in attempt to speak. It's not enough.

"How can I believe you, Mairon?" His breath stops again, and he stares wide-eyed up at his master saying saying the same words he said a century ago. "What _proof_ can you give me?"

And he is silent. Not even a whimper, not even a whine. Even when Melkor lets go of his jaw, he remains where he is, though his mouth eases shut. And Melkor...

Melkor waits for his answer.

But he has none.

"..We're done here, lieutenant." The Vala sits back on his haunches, towering over Mairon like an obelisk, carved from the blackest stones and crystals of Arda, lined with flickering flames and the chill of death. His master. "Return to your duties. There is much to do before this Age is past."

Tentatively, Mairon pulls himself out from underneath Melkor, knees drawn to his chest and stares down at his toes for several moments. _We're done here._

As he gets to his feet and dresses under his master's scrutinizing gaze, as he leaves without another look back, he can only _hope_ it means the end of these.. encounters.

 

He is so, _so_ wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't wait to write a version with more whimpering and moaning. and screaming. maybe. there won't be much protestething then.


	4. see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mairon puts his foot down. not on melkor's crotch, but he still puts it down.
> 
> lots of vague hinting-ats that i prbably will flesh out in separate fics....... or just a reason for me to write gothmog/mairon like the trash i am hhhhhh. and because i'm trash, mairon's kinks apparently span almost everything melkor has done to him... except for the sex itself. what irony.

Melkor has decided to settle their engagements into a regular schedule. Once every other week. Sometimes once every week, or more, when a large project is progress. Erecting the second set of walls around Utumno was extensively exhausting, in more ways than one.

Just about every time, Melkor brings in something different. Some new and curious fixation of his, as a trial run, of sorts. A length of rope, once. A rod, a strap. A new position, or a new place. Sometimes he wants to try a piercing (and he does-- Mairon has several now, some of them matching Melkor's). Sometimes he brings another participant.

(Or rather, Melkor _tries_ to bring another participant. Mairon is always suspiciously _absent_ during those weeks. He's out on land survey. Inspecting the fortifications (again). Finishing up the next set of armors in the forge.

So far, Melkor hasn't questioned him about it. Why he's gone or how he even knows.)

If there's anything that's remained the same, it's that every time Melkor sweeps him aside for a _session_ , it is: entirely not subtle; completely in disregard of the protocol for relieving anyone in their immediate presence; and... that Melkor always, _always_ fucks his mouth first. He seems to think it keeps Mairon.. _in line_. Satisfied. Content enough to submit to the rest of it.

He's not _wrong._

Sometimes Melkor is rough with it, balls slapping the underside of Mairon's chin unceasingly until he comes. Until _they_ come, both of them. Sometimes he does it slowly, gently, pushing in as deep as he can and holding Mairon's head there, letting them both relish the feeling of it.

For Melkor, the hot, wet, clenching tightness of his throat. For Mairon, the feeling of the Vala lodged inside his mouth, in his gullet. The pressure of it, taste, texture, swallowing the hot, thick liquid that comes out. It's the one thing they both enjoy, willingly.

And during those times, he practically _worships_ his master. He does. He always will.

(Melkor had tried to taunt him with that fact, once. Called him some word in a tone reserved only for the lightest of insults. Twice.

Mairon melted through the metal gag he was wearing and bit down. It was never spoken of again.)

But today, things will be a little different. And the throne room could not have been vacated quickly enough.

The debate had sprung up quite suddenly. A few words exchanged between two Maiar about some small grievance of theirs made it to Mairon's ear and prompted a response. Which, in turn, elicited an opinion (an _order_ , he'd say) from Melkor himself. Then it was words between master and lieutenant, and it was Mairon who had the sense to set it aside so they could finish the meeting and dismiss the court before it progressed further than it had.

"..I take it we're not settling this matter any time soon," Melkor growls unhappily, slouching in his throne now that the room is emptied of everyone but themselves. Gothmog is the last to leave, throwing one last look over his shoulder before the doors shut.

"Not here, not now," Mairon says quietly, curtly, in response, rolling up the scroll on which he had been taking down notes from the proceedings. He doesn't miss that may well have been the Balrog captain's _good luck_ gesture. "Perhaps we can settle it later. In private."

"..In private?" A touch of excitement colours the Vala's voice, echoing lowly through the room.

"That _is_ what we do, is it not? We argue civilly during meetings and leave things unfinished. Then we retire to your bedchambers, or wherever it is that you fancy, and you force your opinions until I accept them." He turns towards the throne to see Melkor sitting up again, alert and no longer amused. Good. "Is that what I am here for? To do nothing more than obey your word and your will without question?"

"If you have nothing to contribute, then _yes_ , Mairon. I am your master and you _will_ obey me. Just as every other one of my servants does."

Mairon advances with long, strident steps, the coiled scroll held in his hand like a blade and pressing under Melkor's chin before he can stop himself. Before he _wants_ to stop himself.

"I am your _lieutenant_ , Melkor."

"I am well aware of that, _lieutenant._ " Even looking up at him from below, the Vala never fails to look like he's in control. Something Mairon always tries to be. "It was I who granted you that title."

"And yet you bring me up here before the court but deny and refuse any contribution I have." He isn't seething as much as he could be, as much as he _should_ be. Or shouldn't. This isn't what he had planned. "Nothing has changed from when I was _not_ your lieutenant."

"I wouldn't say _nothing_ has changed.." Unperturbed, Melkor's hand lashes out and hooks a thumb in his mouth grasping his chin again as he's done several times now, ever since the first, to the point where Mairon knows almost instinctively what it means. What his next order will be. How futile it is to refuse. "..We've put this mouth of yours to good use, haven't we?"

How easy it is for his master to bring him to heel. To bring him to _kneel_. To diffuse whatever anger and sorrow he feels and focus only on _him_.

The sound of the doors grinding shut shakes him out of his trained obedience, already half-way to kneeling. The hairs on the back of his neck tingle in the waves of power washing over him. Melkor's power. Curling around his neck and over the tip of his tongue, his mouth still being held open at the Vala's behest.

"Keep going, lieutenant," Melkor says in a quiet purr, and Mairon almost does. "You know what to do by now."

A dull _thunk_ draws his attention briefly. It's the scroll he was holding earlier, dropped and forgotten until it rolled off of Melkor's lap and onto the floor, unraveling as it tumbles down the dais.

It's the sight of it that gives Mairon the strength _and will_ to wrest himself from Melkor's grasp.

"Where do you think you're--"

"Please," he interrupts, stepping just out of reach of the hands trying to pull him back in, back down. "Please... Allow me. Master."

He waits for Melkor's reaction with baited breath, but only for a moment. Then he realizes he _shouldn't_ be waiting, and instead starts disrobing of his own accord, with or without his master's assent. But then again, he's also quite certain at the very _least_ that Melkor won't complain about Mairon willingly disrobing for him to watch.

Mairon has been vocal enough what he has or hasn't enjoyed in their previous sessions; and despite what he'd thought before, about the Vala not caring for his own comforts, Melkor _does_ seem to listen. Partly. This is just.. taking it one step further. And Melkor certainly _seems_ intrigued enough.

"..What is this, Mairon?" The Vala breathes out once Mairon is fully nude, clothes pooled at his ankles. But he doesn't sound.. angry. Frustrated, perhaps, and about ready to jump out of his seat. At another time, he might even be willing to take Mairon right there on the dais.

And maybe, at that time, the room would echo would more than just the sounds of their fucking.

"My answer, Melkor." Mairon has never felt shame before, nor pride. He moves towards his master with confidence, if not hesitance, for what he intends. "You.. asked for proof of my loyalty."

"More than a century ago," Melkor utters in turn, his chest rising and falling with every breath. Not because he needs to breathe, no.

Mairon wonders what he smells like.

"And recently."

"Has it taken you all these months to find your _proof_?" A snort, and Melkor slouches back in his throne again. "I'm almost disappointed, lieutenant. Again."

"Forgive me for my delay, my Lord," Mairon murmurs, kneeling between Melkor's legs fully this time, and with practiced ease. "I hope to make amends for my... inexperience in servitude."

Large, warm hands encircle his face, curling under his jaw, and Mairon is sorely tempted to give himself over again, to let Melkor lead him through this dance as he always has. Let him take what he wants.

But Mairon wants to _give_ him what he wants, and perhaps also what he needs.

So instead, he pulls away just enough, Melkor's fingers trailing hot and cold along the sides of his cheeks, strands of his hair tangled in them.

"Let me..." Mairon trails off, looking up briefly at Melkor and then averting his gaze again, back down to the hidden bulge in front of him.

"..Very well, then." His master settles back, arms on their rests, splaying his legs wider and looking for all the world like the most decadent king Arda has ever seen, even though he wears no armor and no jewels. "Let's see this proof of yours. Show me your _loyalty_ , lieutenant."

It's different, doing this freely and of his own will. Not quite as intense, and not entirely as stimulating in the short term. He's never had the chance to do more than take all of what Melkor gives him, maybe occasionally use his tongue. The Vala may enjoy it but he enjoys _other_ things more, as though this were merely a courtesy to allow Mairon some pleasure of his own.

Now given the choice of it, he takes his time. Wraps his fingers around the base as he suckles the tip, much to Melkor's apparent albeit impatient pleasure, if his heavied breath and sighing is any indication. Out of the corner of his eye Mairon catches Melkor's hands twitching, gripping the end of the armrests in a visible attempt to keep from reaching out to him. The look on his face says the same thing.

Mairon tries not to smile.

"If I wanted a _hand_ , I would have done it myself," Melkor says hoarsely after a few more experimental strokes, another nibble along the underside of his cock. "Put it in your _mouth_ , lieutenant."

And he does, and he watches the muscles of Melkor's abdomen jump and tighten, watches his master's head fall back against the back of the throne, groaning _breathlessly_ when Mairon swallows him to the hilt. It's more of a reaction than he's ever gotten before, and he feels his own member jump to life just to hear it, just to _see_ his master in this state. To know it was wrought by his own hands.

Mairon hollows his cheeks and _sucks_ as it slides out of his mouth, this time feeling Melkor's thighs twitching under his palms, hearing the gravelly moan his master utters for it. He's never seen nor heard Melkor so responsive before, and just _thinking_ about how he will sound later has Mairon leaking onto the ground between his thighs, _eager_ to move on as he never has been before.

Melkor makes a sound of protest when Mairon pulls away with one last swallow, scraping his teeth along the length of it. The Vala's legs try to trap him there, hands make a grab for his horns, snarling as one maddened.

"Put your mouth back to _work_ , damn you--"

"In time," Mairon gasps, climbing onto Melkor's lap, spread and splayed and kneeling on the throne atop his master. Bereft of his usual hold, Melkor grips onto his hips instead, pulling him into place. Mairon braces himself against the Vala with one hand, wrapping the other around the both of their cocks with a shuddering breath. " _In time_ , Melkor."

The friction is _wonderful_ , Melkor's length sliding against his own, Melkor's robes rasping over his chest, Melkor's _mouth_ sucking a bruise into his neck. 

"You've not _spent_ yet, Mairon," his master says, breath hot and damp and biting.

"I know."

" _Mairon_." Another snarl, desperate, fingers digging blissfully painful furrows into the curve of his rear. "Are you going to _ride_ me?"

"No, Melkor." Laughing quietly, Mairon gives their cocks one more stroke to slick Melkor's member and raising his hips just enough, letting Melkor position himself until the tip of it touches his puckered and waiting entrance. "This very room, on this very throne, was where you first took me."

"So it was." Teeth gnaw on at the tendon of his neck again, urging him down over the blunt head. "And now I will take you again. _Down_ , lieutenant."

" _No_ , you will not." With a hiss, Mairon sinks down as slow as he is able to, gasping, soundless and wordless, from the stretch of his master entering him, as he does every time he is lucid enough to feel it. The bite of iron is dulled only slightly by Melkor's own cape strewn beneath them, just enough. "This time, I will take _you_ , master."

Melkor groans luxuriously, bruising the imprint of his hand in an effort to urge him to go _faster_. "Oh, _will you_ , now? _You_ will take _me_?"

Mairon hisses again and _moans_ as he drops himself down to take Melkor in all the way in one fell swoop, one plunge, and he clamps his thighs _tight_ around Melkor's in order to ride out any attempted bucking. Or fucking. Even when it sends Melkor in deeper with no way of mitigating the force, even when he's keening between clenched teeth, staring his master down as they both strive to take and remain in control. Melkor may be chaos personified, but Mairon is nothing if not stubborn.

He squeezes down, a flutter of muscles leaving even himself breathless and trembling, let alone the effect it has on Melkor.

"I don't see the point of this if you won't let me _move_."

"The _point_ , master, is that _I_ move." Mairon lifts himself up just enough and drops down again, with only a quiet moan on the downstroke. "And _I_ am going to come like this, in your lap, with your cock inside me."

The Vala exhales forcefully, jaw clenching as Mairon begins to ride in earnest. First with little rocking motions, then leaning in to press himself against Melkor for more leverage, hips snapping downwards, and squeezing his own length with the hand not braced against Melkor. Every stroke sends another flutter of muscles clenching through his abdomen and another moan from the Vala.

"I should have made you ride me _sooner_ ," he grunts, still kneading the handfuls of ass in his grasp. "I want to _see_ you, Mairon. I want to see what you look like, riding me like this. Riding my _cock_ like this."

"Then summon one of your servants." Mairon kisses him, humming as he works himself harder. "Gothmog, perhaps. You can watch while I ride him."

"Is that you've been doing?" Melkor mouths along his jaw, arms wrapping around his waist. "Fucking Gothmog?"

"Have you _seen_ him?" He laughs, moaning as he trembles against Melkor's larger frame. "Just thinking about it makes me _quiver_."

" _Don't_ make me jealous."

And yet Mairon feels Melkor hardening even more inside him, stiffening and digging in deeper.

"You suggested it first, master. Did you not want to see someone's cock in my throat?" He starts angling his hips as he moves, watching the fire in Melkor's eyes, the twist of his mouth, the quiet, _quiet_ growling in his throat. "I think you like that idea."

" _I do._ " The words tumble like a landslide from Melkor's mouth, his hands now palming over the expanse of Mairon's back and slowly working their way up. "I want to see you spend yourself while choking on my cock and seed. I want to see your hole _dripping_ and brimming and _full_."

A spark of fire and heat tells him he has found what he was looking for inside himself, and a whimper tells _Melkor_ something has changed. Something that ignites and fans itself hotter to the timbre of Melkor's words.

"Oh," Mairon gasps, tucking his face into the crook of Melkor's neck. "Keep going. _Keep talking._ "

"Is that what you want, Mairon? You want to listen to my voice while you _ride me_?"

" _Yes,_ " he says in a whisper, a whimper, fixing the angle of his riding to perpetuate that growing curl of pleasure in his gut.

"I want to see you come undone," Melkor says then, lips pressed to his ear, tonguing the rings lining the whorl of it until Mairon squirms, cold heat and elation piercing through him with each and every word, every stab of Melkor's cock. "I want to see you writhe, I want to hear you moan, I want you _screaming_. I want you helpless, I want you powerful, I want you spread _wide_ for me, Mairon. I want to see you _surrender yourself to me_."

A hand fists in his hair, dragging his head back and exposing his throat to his master's mouth. Gemstones shine like stars in the ceiling of Utumno's throne room, glimmering and glittering brighter for every time Melkor's teeth sink into his neck.

' _I want to **devour** you, little one._ ' Melkor's mind purrs against his own, his _fea_ slick and plying, consuming. Devouring. ' _I want all of you. **Everything**. All that you have to give. My lieutenant, my servant, my **consort**._ '

Consort.

Melkor's teeth dig in deeper-- the tang of blood reaches his nostrils, Mairon's grip tightens, and the sensation of livid ecstasy burns a line from his belly down his groin. Nothing but muted white noise and _silence_ as he comes into the space between them, spilling into his own hand, gasping and moaning so, _so_ quietly he can hardly hear it himself.

But he _can_ hear Melkor. The clandestine whispering like a mantra, uttering the deepest and most obscenely delighted sound into his neck, and Mairon feels him twitching inside with every uncontrolled spasm of his internal walls. Melkor lets go and leans back, holds him in place with a hand loose around his neck, no doubt watching the aftershocks quaking through Mairon's arching body.

Then, before they even have a chance to die down, his vision blurs as Melkor grabs one of his horns and pulls his head forward, bowed over double, his other hand holding Mairon in place. And Mairon braces himself now against the armrests just before Melkor starts fucking into him with long-denied vigor, scraping along his already frayed and sensitive nerves. All he can see from this angle is Melkor's cock pumping up into him, the sudden jolting stimulation and inability to move has mewling moans falling from his tongue like dying leaves underfoot. Dry, brittle, cracking. _Sharp_.

The Vala shoves in _deep_ when he comes, as always, and even after the initial burst of warmth he continues moving until he's satisfied with using Mairon's ass to milk the seed out of him, until strands and globs of it leak out, smearing the both of their thighs with clear white fluid. Until he no longer hears the sounds of exultant gratification.

Mairon doesn't even realize his eyes are closed until he opens them to the nudge of slicked fingers at his lips, the scent of musk and seed filling his nostrils. A brief reflexive ( _instinctive_ ) lick tells him it's not what Melkor spent inside him. He can move his head again.

But he opens up anyway, lets Melkor shove nearly his entire hand inside and wipe the fluid off on his tongue and the inside of his mouth. And he leaves it open for a while longer, flushing under Melkor's intent stare at the sight of Mairon with his own come coating his chin and jaw, before swallowing breathlessly around his master's fingers.

And Melkor looks _proud_.

"..We forgot to to lock the doors."

Mairon pauses in the midst of licking clean the fingers still at his lips and very nearly flushes dark again, just enough that the heat of his _fea_ seeps through like puddles of simmering lava under his skin. He'd forgotten about that, completely.

"..At least Gothmog is standing guard," he mutters.

Melkor barks a disbelieving, jesting laugh. And then, "..Is he really?"

At Mairon's nod, the Vala spares a quick glance at the doors. From behind it comes a sparse cough and a low whistle.

"..Who else is there, Mairon?" The Vala inquires, already reaching his mind towards them.

Mairon stops him with a hand, turning Melkor back to him and away from their.. spectators, and kisses him slowly, the heat of his skin slowly cooling with a hissed ripple.

"You wanted all of me, master. Now I can give that to you. Everything."

Melkor hums against his lips, the tone of it low and resounding against Mairon's skin.

"..Everything." It's a soft murmur, uncharacteristic of the Vala who has been up until now a chaotic wildstorm, barreling through any and all obstacles with the force of Creation ( _Destruction_ ) itself. "Not weeks ago you could hardly stand me."

The warm, bubbly _longing_ festering in his chest makes itself known again, tendrils lancing out and rooting firmly in his flesh. Tingling and shivering where his skin meets Melkor's.

"I would not serve you if I hated you." His head tipped to the side, Mairon regards his master softly, not like a lieutenant. Not like a servant. "..Master."

Melkor makes a noise in response, a grunt, neither good nor bad.

"What _were_ you doing in those weeks when you were away?" He raises an eyebrow when Mairon hesitates to respond. "I could always take it from your mind. But I want to hear it from _you_ , my loyal servant."

Mairon mulls it over in his thoughts. He'd already told the truth, even if he was nervous enough at the time that it might have seemed like a lie.

"There was an incident, as I said. I was trapped in the caves with the other Maiar for a time." He leans forward then, lips brushing against Melkor's ear. "..And we fucked each other for six weeks while waiting to be dug out."

And with that he slides off of the Vala's lap, slicked with sweat and seed, and makes sure he's facing away from Melkor when he bends over to gather his clothing.

" _Harlot_ ," Melkor growls warmly, if not invitingly. Mairon pays little heed, dressing himself with leisure, so long as his master remains seated. "Speaking falsities I almost wish to be true."

The Vala still hasn't tucked himself back into his pants by the time Mairon is fully robed and pulling his hair back into place. Luckily he'd worn loose, heavy garments that wouldn't stick to the fluid streaked along the back of his legs.

He gathers up the fallen scroll and starts rolling it back up, going over several of the items in the meantime.

"..About the matter from before.."

Melkor grunts behind him. When he turns, he catches a glimpse of the Vala's hand making a dismissive wave. "Go ahead. Furnish the fortress with your... linens and liveries. Though I see no reason why we need to have any of it."

"Appearances are important, as you have said yourself. That is why I look like _this_ ," Mairon gestures down his body, and he knows Melkor is paying particular attention to his ass, clothed though he is, "instead of the creature I was when I first arrived."

"How does that apply to _rugs_ and _tapestries_? Have you been spending time with the Weaver?"

" _No_ , master, I have not. Maybe I just want this place to look more _impressive_ when the Children wake and we start bringing them in."

His master makes another vague utterance, chin propped in the palm of his hand, elbow on the armrest. He seems to be pondering something.

"..I will take my leave, then," Mairon says with a half bow. "We can.. review the day's meeting later this evening, if you so wish."

"Tomorrow evening." A grin crawls slowly across the Vala's visage, finger tapping against his teeth. "I am still considering your _punishment_."

At the brief flash of fear in his eyes, Melkor draws a line with that same finger across his throat, right under his chin. Right where Mairon had held the scroll against it.

"Don't think I've forgotten, lieutenant. I will overlook the _manner_ in which you proved your loyalties. But for your transgression, you will be sufficiently reprimanded."

And Mairon puts on his softest smile, to hide the trembling fear and.. something else he dare not ever admit to.

"..Of course, master."

All in all, this is ending just as he thought it would. Aside from being punished for his earlier unplanned outburst.

He can only hope a whipping is the worst Melkor will decide on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a long long week erryone. the last two chapters are still unwritten so it may be more than a few days before they're up 8')


	5. touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wwweeellll. it started out nice and steamy and took a weird turn. i had initially planned for this to be their first semi-consensual ~session~ but with the addition of the 'punishment' from the previous chapter. . . . . . . . . w e l l . still very dub-conny, mildly non-con, but not in the brutal rape sort of way. i remembered a headcanon meme i'd done on tumblr where i mentioned melkor taking it too far and mairon flipping out. so here we go.
> 
> they're still in that state of very-unhealthy-not-really-established-but-still-sort-of-budding-relationship and melkor is kind of trying but they're all going about this whole bondage-type thing the wrong way and also he sucks at aftercare.
> 
> so the last chapter will finally be a little bit. nicer. haha. hahaha... ha.....

_Punishment_ is a strange word in Utumno. It evokes the idea of wrong-doing, of sinning, of erring so utterly that words do not suffice. They are loyal here, under Melkor's wing. The idea of being _punished_ is almost alien, for those who follow their master so closely.

It's unfortunate, then, that Mairon hates what Melkor does. Hates how he does it, hates the chaos and wildness, hates how Melkor's very _nature_ is what both attracts and repels him. Hates how it's quite possible the same for Melkor, hating but drawn to what Mairon is. _Who_ he is. Order striving against chaos.

Hates how it's so easy to disregard all of it. How easy it is to put it aside, to compromise. To justify his reason for being here.

"You have to stop questioning my decisions, Mairon."

How easy it is to be reminded of _why_ he refused so ardently for ages.

"If _that_ is the sort of lieutenant you wanted, master," Mairon sighs, unfastening the showpieces of his armor to set on the floor, "you will need to find another servant willing to do your bidding so blindly."

"But you were, Mairon," Melkor grouses, arms crossed, hip propped against the table. "You _were_ that servant. Or do you not recall the times when all I had to do was say _I want to fuck you_ to have you on your knees before me? You would drop everything to find us a private room, without a single complaint. I was starting to think you enjoyed it."

"I do not."

"You _did_ not."

Mairon looks up, halfway to undoing the clasps to his robes. "..I know what I said, Melkor."

His master watches wordlessly for moments more, until Mairon has stripped down to his trousers and is debating whether to remove those as well.

"..I did not order you to disrobe, Mairon."

"I thought it prudent to prepare myself for my punishment sooner rather than later."

In the end, he leaves his pants on; if Melkor wants those off, he can have his fun pulling them down. But when he turns his attention back to his master, Mairon finds the Vala right before him, alarmingly close with no evidence of approach.

"..I will accept that, as my lieutenant, you must show leadership. And the ability to make decisions. But when I have already announced it and given an order--"

"--I will question whether it is the best decision," Mairon says firmly, resisting the urge to defer and retreat. "As your _lieutenant_ , your second-in-command. I have to make sure your judgment is sound. For us, and for yourself."

Melkor leans in, giving him no choice _but_ to step back. Only to remember he had been putting his clothes on the nearby bench, and that meant now being pressed to the wall against which the bench had been set.

(Hates how the heady, frigid brimstone _smell_ of Melkor is so easily more than enough to make him lose his resolve. For anything.)

Then Melkor dips his head to Mairon's neck and _inhales_ , deeply, indulgently, and Mairon wonders if his master feels the same way about him.

"..And my choice of decor would be detrimental to our cause?"

"I.. had to start somewhere." Mairon swallows, keeping his hands curled at his sides. Not trusting them to do what he wants them to if he tries to push Melkor off. "Decor is as harmless as it gets around here."

"And I suppose I should expect this sort of.. _resistance_ more often."

"It might be best if we make a habit of discussing these decisions of yours before you announce them. You do the same with Gothmog."

"Gothmog is lord of the Balrogs, and soon to be high-captain. I speak to him of preparing for matters of war when the time comes."

"And you have _only_ informed me of things related to the forges, the quarries, the metalworks."

"That is what you were at the head of."

" _Before_ I became your lieutenant, Melkor!" Exasperated, Mairon finally shoves the Vala to the side and strides towards the table, pacing and gesticulating sharply. "I stopped working in the forges since you made me lieutenant. _Your_ lieutenant. And what have I done since then? Aside from the odd project here and there, all you have had me doing is spreading my legs and sucking your--"

Mairon rakes a hand through his hair, spitting out some Valarin expletive for _cock_ before he realizes what he's said. By then Melkor already has his chest slammed down against the table, one arm pinioned to his back, the other trying and failing to brace for the impact.

It's another minute before the ringing in his ears dies down and his vision stops spinning, for his breath to return. He doesn't panic, or struggle. This is to be expected.

"Would you care to repeat that for me, lieutenant?" Melkor's says in a murmur along the ridge of his ear, hot and tingling. "Sucking my _what_?"

Something about the Vala's tone, quietly anticipating and waiting, tempts him sorely to do just that. Melkor's grip on his wrist is only mildly uncomfortable, and the fist in his hair is far from tearing anything out. For now.

" _Say it_."

The room is beginning to chill, and Mairon can see his breath steaming across the surface of the table under his cheek, collecting into dewy droplets. He shivers.

"..Your--" He repeats the expletive, rolling it deliberately on his tongue from the depths of his throat, a word as archaic as they are, and inhales sharply when Melkor's bulge presses up to his clothed backside. "-- _cock_ -!"

Melkor groans above him, the weight of him heavy and suffocating on Mairon's back. Another roll of his hips sends Mairon onto his toes, arching and shuddering in place.

"I would never have thought that pretty mouth of yours could utter such _obscenities_.."

Mairon snarls another string of curses, much to Melkor's _very_ obvious delight. _Fuck you._

"I would love to, Mairon," the Vala moans into the back of his neck, teeth scraping across the nape of it. "I would _love_ to."

"But you won't," he grinds through his teeth, too worked up to maintain his usual manner of speech.

Cold, cold ice curls around his neck, coiling tight until any breath he takes hisses thinly through his windpipe. It slurs his tongue and most certainly doesn't help him resist whatever it is Melkor is intending to do.

"I won't."

"You haven't. In weeks."

For all the relief it brought him, it also made him... nervous. Scared, or something he can't quite describe. Apprehension that is only building up more with every tightening cinch around his neck.

"Your projects have kept you busy and away from me," Melkor says quietly, whispering down his spine. "I have _yearned_ for your mouth and tongue this past month."

"Have you?" He's more spiteful than he intends, ire and anger that bubble sup in retaliation. "Or have you been looking for another harlot to make lieutenant so you can stick your--"

"I would watch my _tongue_ if I were you, Mairon," Melkor hushes over the small of his back, tugging on the binding around his neck and making sparks trickle into his vision. "Others would consider you fortunate and favoured for the position you have now."

He almost wants to laugh. There's nothing fortunate or favoured about _this_.

"Then why don't you fuck _them_ instead?"

Mairon's snarl is met with a hollow _tsk_ , like bones snapping in his grasp. Instead of an answer, the chilling tendrils are coiling about his pinioned wrist and attaching a lead to what is already wrapped around his neck, pulling taut until he can hardly move it. A stroke of nails along the back of his thighs and he finds him being pulled apart by his ankles until his weight threatens to give out and fall over. Then Melkor is hefting him up by the hips until his legs dangle over the edge, immobilized and lashed to the table legs.

And throughout it Mairon bites down hard on his lower lip, trying his hardest _not_ to struggle, and refusing to acknowledge any evidence of his own arousal. He would feel less unnerved about this arrangement if his feet could just _touch the ground_. Yet at the same time, there is some thrill in being bound to this extent, not even having a foothold to anchor himself with.

He can't recall if the door to this room was locked or not, though, and he has half a mind now to demand to be released.

(He has, once before. Melkor laughed and said he would be okay.)

"I want to fuck _you_ , Mairon. I thought that much would have been obvious." Melkor hums now, both of his hands free to tug Mairon's trousers down, to squeeze and knead at the flesh of his buttocks. Only when he starts parting his cheeks does Mairon have the urge to pull his legs shut, his hole undoubtedly clenching repeatedly with every twitch and aborted gesture. "..Why are you so reluctant now? You were so _eager_ for it the day before."

"It was a mistake," he says simply, hurriedly, dwelling too deeply on Melkor's implication of _you_ , and no other. Mairon wants to know what it means-- and at the same time, he doesn't. He's afraid to know. "I.. I won't do it again."

"No, I quite enjoyed it." Melkor hums, his thumb scraping dry over Mairon's puckered entrance. "You seem to have enjoyed it as well. We'll have to do it again sometime."

"No--" Mairon squashes the protest just as it rises, swallowing a stuttered breath and trying not to push back against Melkor's fingers. ".. _Why_?"

"Why what, Mairon?"

"Why are you doing this?"

The thumb removes itself for a moment, and after a sucking sound, it presses again at his hole, now damp and slick and easing into him.

"This is your punishment, lieutenant."

"For--" Melkor's thumb presses harder and he gasps again, shallow and husked. "--For _what_? For doing my.. my _duty_ , as your _lieutenant_?"

"Hm?" Leisurely the Vala sinks the digit in as deep as it will go, swirling around and rubbing the inner ring of muscles until Mairon whimpers onto the wooden surface, straining against his bindings-- for more, for less, to get away or to come closer, he can't tell. He can never tell. "You did your duty well, I am not opposed to that. _This_ \--"

And he presses _down_ , rubbing against that _spot_ that Mairon tried so hard to find even with help, and Mairon _clenches_ down around the invading finger, a whine choking in his throat.

"--this is for raising your blade to me."

"But I did not--!"

"No?" Harder, more insistent and repetitively _stroking_ , and Mairon's forehead thuds down with a strangled breath. He feels his thighs quivering, toes curling with every spark of lightning and heat that sets him ablaze far better than anything he has tried himself, and it doesn't make _sense_. "Well, if that wasn't _quite_ a blade you raised, then this won't _quite_ be punishment, will it?"

Mairon doesn't know why Melkor is asking him-- a servant has no say in their own punishment, whether it is or isn't. He just hopes it will be over soon.

"But you have shown me your face in ecstasy, and I am _pleased_ by that... so this will be your reward as well."

"How..?"

Melkor rubs over it again, pressing down as though to crush a pair of eyes, and there is nothing Mairon can do to stop the hoarse cry that falls rasping from his tongue, wrenching past noose about his neck and throbbing heat in his nethers. His cock twitches against his will (but then, he's not doing too much to stop it), leaking with every jostling movement of his hips, in spite of everything else.

"I had a word with our beloved Captain of the Balrogs. He told me what you've been doing lately, under the guise of working on your _projects_."

"That _fucking_ \--!" Another oath croaks and dies in his lungs, pitched and desperate, and his hips jerk violently against the edge of the table.

"He also told me how lovely and _filthy_ your mouth gets when you do this to yourself. Or when _he_ does this to you, for that matter."

"He never--"

" _Hasn't he_?" Another hooked prod, and Mairon resigns himself to this fate, trembling and moaning, the ring of his muscles spasming around the base of Melkor's thumb. His master nearly _croons_. "Don't _lie_ to me, Mairon. Look at you... It's like he trained your hole to sucking in anything that comes near it. Or has it always been like that?"

"Please," Mairon utters breathlessly, "please, I-- I'm--"

"About to come already? _Tsk_. You've no patience at all, Mairon. It's about time I _teach_ you some, before it's too late."

The point of a blunt nail traces up the length of his own member, fingers circling around and pinching the base of it lightly. The rope around his neck lengthens with a hush, slithering along the underside of the table. When Melkor releases his cock, the rope wraps _tight_ around the base of it and Mairon's eyes widen, a quiet, horrified whimper escaping before he can stop himself.

"Did you forget, Mairon?" Melkor rubs along the binding and tugs on it; Mairon feels a responding tug on the noose around his neck. "Your reward _and_ your punishment. And I think you're enjoying yourself _far_ too much right now."

There's more than one finger now-- two, maybe even three, all of them reaching _deep_ in until Mairon claws at the table with his free hand and every part of him jerks and writhes in a climax denied to him. One that instead comes out in a single, drawn out cry that echoes infinitely, and he's pushing back on Melkor's hand until the waves of heat and bliss and the contractions of his abdominal muscles die down to a tremor. He's still as hard as he's ever been before.

And he wants to _look_ , to lift his head and see Melkor, watch the Valar's fingers resume their plunging and pillaging of his depths. But every move of his head pulls on the base of his cock, strangling it even further, though not to a painful extent.

" _Master_ ," he whines, trying to loosen the ties around his neck, "I'm-- I need to.. _please_ \--"

He may as well be taking Melkor's cock with how thick the Vala's fingers are, how widely they're opening him up. But there is the addition of the one thing Melkor never bothered with before, perhaps never even knew about. The very thing that has Mairon reduced to a mess of nerve endings, stroked and strummed to a high singing crescendo again and again, but never coming back down. Over and over, until he's lost all sense of time.

For a moment he even forgets why he's here, tied to this table with Melkor's power in him and around him, swirling like a rich and delicate poison wreaking havoc on his mind.

He doesn't like it.

"..see you." Melkor's voice, steady and lofty, drifting, a quiet contrast to his own exhausted moans. It takes all of his will to quiet himself to hear what his master is saying. "I wish I could see you right now, Mairon. I wish _you_ could see you right now, like this, desperate and beautiful with just my fingers inside you."

Melkor's hand twists and Mairon is seeing white again, groaning loud and obscene onto the table, his member twitching relentlessly in its bindings.

"You really should see yourself," his master says earnestly, nothing but desire in his voice. "Your cock wants to come so badly, I can _smell it_."

Mairon's entire body seems to react to Melkor's very words, flushing under the weight of his gaze and arching beneath the Vala's hand splayed over the small of his back.

"Tell me, _lieutenant_. Tell me how much you want release. Tell me how much you _need_ it."

He doesn't want to beg for it. Not like this, not when he can't move anything but one hand and even then he can't get himself free. But even so, Mairon doesn't know how much longer he can last in this state, how much more he can endure before he's willing to beg for release. For having only recently learned about it, Melkor is abnormally skilled in knowing the best ways to stimulate that bundle of nerves inside him.

In fact, he'd almost suspect Gothmog of having shared the details of their.. activities with each other. Would, if he didn't know Gothmog was deathly afraid of what would happen if Mairon found out what he'd done. Willingly.

"Untie me," he says instead, in this rare moment of lucidity, curling and uncurling his bound hand. "Please, master.."

"You'll have to try harder than _that_." Melkor is too calm, too level, too _comfortable_. "Swear that you'll never defy me again, and I just might unbind your pretty little thing."

"No," Mairon moans, twisting and clawing against the wood, trying to wrench his ankles free. Only for the strands of Melkor's power to pull even more taut, until there's no give at all and no possible venue of escape. Unless he wants to take his own prick off. "No, no, _please_ , please untie me, _Melkor, please_!"

" _Swear it, Mairon_ ," his master husks, fingers digging in hard and sending Mairon into another round of convulsions, fire and ice digging into the line of his neck. " _Swear your loyalty to me._ "

 _I did_ , Mairon rasps to himself, in the comfort of his own mind. Soon to be lost, if this should continue. _I already did._

Another twist, another plunge, another dry, shaking orgasm, lost in the heaving breath that sobs out of him. Mairon is almost delirious with pleasure and a panic that rises with every lurch of his gut, every pulsing beat in his groin.

In the most earnest, imploring tone Mairon has ever heard, Melkor repeats, "Just say _yes_ , little one."

He says nothing.

 

 

And almost Mairon imagines the _disappointment_ radiating from the Vala as his cock is finally released. One more wide-stretched jab of Melkor's fingers sends him _falling_ , crashing down into a blazing white blissful inferno of a climax he has never been through before gushing out of him, too much for his already frayed nerves. His entire form clenches and tightens, every one of his four (four? he swore he had more than that at one point) limbs seizing uncontrollably in his rigid release.

Amidst the grinding noise of his hoarse rapture, Mairon's hand sears a mark into the table for lack of anything else to brace himself with, anything else to use as an _anchor_. The smell of charcoal crumbles under his palm, but not even the creaking splinter of wood is able to shake the fog from his mind and body.

For the briefest moment his breath is cut off entirely; something bites into his neck, and his vision goes black just before the rest of his bindings dissipate and an unwieldy _crack_ thrums through him.

Mairon sucks down proper lungfuls of air, woody and dusty and burning, finds his head clearing a little more with every breath. Slowly he is aware of no longer being tied to the table, though his arms and legs are still limp and splayed, as though even freed they didn't have the strength in them to move.

Shadows flicker across the wall before his eyes, coming from a wall brazier behind him. Behind _them_ , because Mairon is aware of something large and warm resting against his back as well, wrapped around him and, he suspects, holding him upright. A hand strokes over one of his horns repeatedly.

"Mairon."

The word is muffled, like mud stuck in ears, he barely recognizes it as his own name. A dry thumb brushes along his cheek, a hand palming his chin back, tipping it up so he can breathe more easily. Unnecessary. But it _is_ helping him recover faster, from.. whatever it was that just happened. This disconnect between his body and his _fea_.

"Mairon...!"

Eventually the blinking lights and shapes rearrange themselves to form the sight of _Melkor's_ face.

Later he will understand that the expression Melkor was wearing had been _concerned_ , perhaps even tender, gentle. Later he might understand why Melkor agrees to what he does, _says_ what he says.

For now, Mairon pitches forward, naked and scrambling, but the arm around his waist keeps him in place. He whines, keening, trying to regain enough control over his limbs to get free and all but deaf to whatever Melkor is shouting at him.

It's only his master's hand over his chin that finally stills him, thumb pushing up against his lips in a gesture so familiar that there isn't much else he can react with except to be pliant. _Pliant_.

He should be apologizing. For not swearing his oath, for not keeping it, for breaking the table, for any number of things Melkor could punish him for (again).

Instead he says

_snarls_

" _You tried to kill me._ "

And Melkor tells him, softly, "No. No, Mairon, I didn't," while Mairon stares at the wall, tremors still running up his spine and down to his fingers and toes. "I would never."

He wants to believe it so badly. That he has nothing to fear, that he's safe, but this is _Melkor_. His master. Melkor whom all the other Valar tried to keep him from following. Melkor, fickle and capricious and dangerous, who could crush mountains as easily as heads. In Melkor's arms, the embrace of one so strong, he should feel _safe_. Safe from this world and those who seek to destroy them.

Then he swallows, and the cut stings across his throat. And he doesn't feel quite as safe as he should.

Maybe he isn't supposed to.

"..Are you alright, Mairon?"

Blood tangs across his tongue. Mairon blinks and realizes slowly that he's been worrying at not his own thumb but _Melkor's_ , and now it's bleeding and he sucks in a copper-tinged breath.

"..I'm fine." He isn't. Just from hearing his own words, he knows he isn't. "I- I will be fine."

But why Melkor _cares_ is beyond him. To make sure his toy isn't broken, perhaps.

"I'm- sorry. Master. For what I did and everything I said during..." During his. _Punishment_. Because it doesn't feel like anything but that, at the moment. "I won't do it again."

Melkor doesn't stop him from rising this time, shakily, leaning on the splintered half of the table as he pulls his pants back up. His legs are still trembling, aftershocks dwindling in intensity with every step he takes towards the bench where his clothes are. Dampness clings fabric to the insides of his legs where his release hadn't managed to make it all the way to the floor. Mairon makes a note to start bringing washcloths or towels with him at all times.

"Leaving already?"

Mairon's fingers halt in the middle of fastening the clasps of his robes. Cold dread trickles from the silver through his fingers, chilling his hands.

"..Is my punishment done?"

"It is." He doesn't see but he hears his master's drawl, casual, dry. "Unless you'd like to service _me_ a little more."

Unless you'd like to.

Unless you'd _like to_ \--

"..I have work to do, master." Mairon dons his armor again, tugs his collar up, clips his cape too tight around his neck and pulls the hems closer. Like he's trying to hide himself. "If you need me, I will be in the forges."

Melkor knows he won't be there.

"For how long?"

"Weeks. Months."

_For as long as you will let me stay there._

It is neither the first nor last time Mairon ends one of their sessions without a second glance at his master. Not a word of farewell. That victory he'd won the day before seems lost now, to the swirling updrafts of the volcano's belching.

He exits the sparse room just as he entered it. Immaculate.

And doesn't see his master left behind on the floor, seated and deep in thought, staring at the bitten cut on his thumb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know if that's actually happens if you mix breath play/asphyxiation, orgasm denial, and adrenaline rush (and a possible emerging fear/dislike of being bound), but then again, they aren't exactly human.
> 
> i sure am having fun using sex to parallel their interpersonal relations. sobs. and as always, i hope to one day write a far more consensual version of this one... but just thinking about it gets me all emotional.
> 
> ps don't tie your maiar down to flimsy wooden tables they will break.
> 
> of course the question now is how many years is mairon going to avoid melkor for.


	6. be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaanndd here is the finale... 5.2k words of uncensored goodness. fun fact: i had to work in a round 2 somehow because i had tagged for spanking but could not find a way to work it in to round 1. (ha. _ha_. get it. work it.. in...)
> 
> \- back in ye olde days (like waaaaay way back, at least 2500 million years ago), there was a thing called **ultramafic lava** that was basically superheated at about 2,910F / 1600C to the point where its thickness was almost like water. i thought it was really cool. so here's a cameo.

In an older section of Utumno, there are vast halls with massive hearths, bellows, kilns. Once they were used by Melkor's servants to prepare his fortress, by Mairon himself in instructing those servants in the basics of metalcrafting, of runebinding, spellbinding, how to make even the crudest slab of metal an enchanted battering ram.

He was at his greatest, in those days.

Now the halls are mostly empty, only rumbling with the occasional passing of a Balrog.

Beneath these caves is a massive domed cavern, separated from that above by several hundred paces of thick stone. In the middle is a set of pools. Lakes, even, split in half.

One is of boiling water and steam, containing enough minerals and salts to give it a murky, cloudy appearance. Good for soothing muscles and soaking in, for the lesser ones.

The other is little more than a lake of magma, molten rock, as thin as water itself, bubbling slowly and using its own heat to maintain that of the water.

One tunnel in the wall brings in new water when the level drops too low, and another refills the magma, allowing it to run underneath the lake of water and keep it heated as well.

They had a similar design in Aule's halls, using pressure and gravity to simulate an endless, enclosed system that could siphon water or magma and bring it up to the surface, then letting it come back down full circle. Order and efficiency.

He'd been ridiculed for making something like that so far beneath Utumno, as though he were afraid to show it to the world. But down here is where the perfect magma is to be found, hot and thin enough to flow easily, like water.

Mairon likens it to bathing in a pool of boiling mercury. It's a heat that he welcomes, while not being a Maia of fire himself. The Earth is stone and rock, but beneath its surface is liquid heat, and to be entrenched in it reminds him of those early days. When the world was young and they explored, and built, and structured and ordered, and didn't have to bother with war and battle and fortresses. He has to enjoy this while he can. In a few hundred years, perhaps even a few thousand, this pool will thicken and harden and cool.

He doesn't think about what he'll do then. Where he'll go to hide.

Because it seems like he can't even hide _here_ forever.

An all too familiar aura precedes his arrival, a crackle of energy that permeates even the cloud of raw power simmering in this dome. Breathing it in is like breathing in pure oxygen.

It is his master's palm that brings him out of that molten pool, cupped against the side of his face, pulling him up as one would bring a handful of water to their lips. But it isn't Melkor's lips that greet him.

Mairon surfaces from where he was submerged in the lake, the magma already cooling and congealing on his skin, sloughing off thickly as though it were trying to pull him back down. What's left is absorbed into him, like a sponge taking in water, refreshing and replenishing his reserves. Just like the Balrogs like to do, occasionally. Sometimes he even joins them down here.

"I've been waiting for quite a while, Mairon."

"You just arrived, Melkor." And if he seems enticing to his master, the way he scrapes the liquid from his body as he stands, it's not entirely intentional. "You could not have waited that long."

"I haven't been waiting _here_ the whole time."

The meaning is not lost on Mairon, but he chooses not to acknowledge it.

"How did you find me down here?"

"I asked around. Gothmog, in particular. It seems most of my servants seem to know where you go for weeks at a time.. except me."

Mairon doesn't take the bait. He likes to have _some_ privacy in this fortress, even if half of Utumno seems to be privy to it. So long as Melkor isn't.

He doesn't have any clothing hanging around; instead he draws smoke and mist and dust around his form to make a pseudo cloak, just enough to block the light for the time being until he can make it to his room down the corridor.

"..Leaving already?"

It's an eerie echo of something Melkor has said before. But unlike then, Mairon is far more composed now. _Right now_ , if not lately. Eru forbid it be a simple task to help manage a fortress while simultaneously trying to stay as far away from his master as possible.

All of that. And look where they are now.

"You know me, Melkor." _Master_. He smiles, just slightly so. "Always busy."

Melkor comes closer, and Mairon steps back until bubbling magma licks at his heels, poised. Like one threatened, but without a single change on his face, nothing in his posture indicating how _ready_ he is to take flight. Yet even so Melkor seems to _know_. He's always known.

He just never cared.

"Always busy.." The Vala reaches out slowly, and Mairon might almost laugh at his caution, treating him as though he were a frightened, wild animal. "Always running away from me."

(He was, last time they spoke. Frightened, and running away.) 

"You give me good reason to," he says softly, angling himself away.

Melkor's arm lashes out them, catching Mairon just as he starts to tip into the lake and pulls him _close_. Pulls him back to shore and wraps both arms around him, holding him. Just like he did then.

Mairon finds the smell of Melkor filling his nostrils immediately, the ripple of his power flowing through him, prickling over his skin like a mark of possession. It still tries to permeate his being, but.. less aggressively. Asking, rather than demanding.

Less _I will_ , and more _may I_.

Mairon doesn't let him in just yet.

"..What is it that you need, Melkor?" He asks into the Vala's shoulder, muffled by the thick cloth. "I hardly think you came down here just to see me bathing. Though I would hardly put it past you."

"You wound me, Mairon," his master sighs dramatically, one hand holding him in place while the other strokes through his hair. "We've neither seen nor spoken to each other in _ten years_."

"Only ten?" Mairon tries to hide his surprise, the stab of longing in his chest. He hadn't expected time to pass so.. quickly. "I was hoping it would be more."

" _Don't_ say such things," Melkor insists quietly, hands becoming claws, and Mairon feels that selfsame fear and apprehension trickling back into his extremities, like fingers of ice on a lakeshore. "You are _mine_ , Mairon. Have you forgotten? _You belong to me._ "

He struggles once again, palms against Melkor's chest, the dregs of his makeshift cloak falling apart in feathery clumps. But the Vala is holding onto him too tightly for that.

"How can I make you understand, Mairon?"

" _I understand_ ," Mairon hisses back. He's willing to bite his way free if need be.. or would be, if he didn't think Melkor might enjoy it a little too much. It's a thought. "I _am_ yours, Melkor. I belong to _you_."

"Then why do you hide from me? Why are you so repulsed by my touch, even when I have brought you to climax over and over again?" His master's hand trails down, palming the curve of his lower back and dipping into the cleft of his ass. "How many more times must I make you spill in my hands for you to accept it?"

"If you keep saying things like that, _master_ ," Mairon grunts, pushing away just enough to look Melkor in the face, "I will jump into that lake the next chance I get, and you will not see me for another hundred years.. if ever again."

He doesn't know why he expected anything different. After the past few years, after every time they lay together, every time Melkor has taken him, Mairon shouldn't expect anything _less_.

But he's still winded when Melkor spins them around and nearly _crushes_ him against the side of the dome, as far away as it was just moments ago. There's a fire and determination in his master's eyes, boring into his own, that frightens him.

"Then I will do as I did before." The snarl against his mouth reaches _bone_ -deep, _deeper_ , coiling in his chest and belly and dragging out every wanton desire Mairon has ever had. "I will have you surrendered to me. I will have you for my _own_ , _utterly_. So that even if you vanish from my grasp, you will _never forget_ who you belong to."

There's no room for negotiation. Not with Melkor's claw-like hand grasping the back of his thigh and pulling it up, hooking it around his waist. What Mairon feels isn't the the same eagerness from their first coupling-- but then, ten years is hardly any time at all.

No, instead, Melkor seems... desperate. The ripple of his _fea_ not unlike Mairon's own, merging into a pool of longing and yearning. Like that of a spurned lover.

_Consort._

"..This is cheating," he murmurs, feeling the pressure of Melkor's hand on his chest, holding him against the wall. Dragging lines down his skin, dipping over the planes of his torso until it reaches his naval. "Assaulting me during a bath."

"You mean you haven't been down here the entire time?" Melkor chuckles into his neck, lipping over Mairon's pulse. He's too gentle, too... kind.

The Vala's hand comes up to pass over Mairon's chest again, and he is treated to the odd feeling of his nipples being plucked and toyed with, something Melkor hasn't really done since he had them pierced. It isn't _painful_ , nor uncomfortable, but.. strange.

Especially when Melkor leans down and closes his lips over one of them, sucking on the pierced nub until Mairon can't help but squirm and murmur _stop that_. And yet, even though he only finds it the least bit arousing.. just watching Melkor take the tip between his teeth worry at it, nip and tug and laving his tongue over it so _diligently_...

"Well, Mairon?"

He lets out another breath as Melkor lifts him up higher against the wall, and he wraps both legs around the Vala's waist, leaving Mairon at a height adequate enough for Melkor to reach his chest without bending down too much.

"Well what?"

Melkor's licks a line hot up his sternum, laps over the dent in his clavicle and nibbles along the tendon of his neck. Mairon is really sure what to do about all of this attention.

"Will you lay with me once more before you go?"

Mairon catches only a glimpse of the Vala's eyes, flickering upwards, lurid flecks of ice and fire in a sea of darkness. His hands curl against Melkor's neck, fingers dipping into ink-like hair, watching it sift through them as though it has a life of its own.

He has seen this sight before, once, when he rode Melkor upon the throne. Looking down from above; this time not of his own doing, but raised by Melkor's own hands. And now held in place by the sheer weight of Melkor's body against his.

"..You will not stop me from leaving?"

"Of your own free will did you join me, Mairon. If you have decided to leave, I doubt I could stop you."

"You could convince me to stay." Mairon's head tips aside, shivering from the cool air hitting his saliva-dampened skin when Melkor pulls away with a wet suckling sound.

"And what exactly would convince you to do that, _lieutenant_?"

Mairon licks his lips and leans over, turning Melkor's chin up to meet him with a kiss. Speaks in tones barely above a low, husky murmur, watching the glow of his half-lidded eyes flicker over the planes of his master's features.

"..The only reason I left was because you were awful at fucking."

"... _What_ \--?"

"So stop shoving your cock down my throat, and start learning how to put it in my ass properly."

His heart beats rapidly as he leans back again, trying not to fight the flush slowly simmering and climbing up his neck and face. Mairon feels himself trembling already-- out of anticipation, out of apprehension, desire, fear. Did he read Melkor correctly? Would he be willing to take such a thing as Mairon's pleasure into consideration?

"And do not even _think_ about tying me down again."

..Or would he refuse? Would Melkor try to ridicule him for these demands again, laugh away his discomfort and concerns?

_What kind of master does he truly serve?_

"You would give orders to _me_?" Melkor growls, threatening to devour him in its hushed intensity, now entirely crushing Mairon against the cavern wall even as his dark robes and armor starts to melt away. "Your lord and master, your _king_?"

"I would," he gasps, unable to move even the slightest bit. "I _dare_."

The Vala's hands enclose his face, thumbing over the swell of his cheeks thoughtfully, as though contemplating his fate.

"...Well," he murmurs, kissing his way down Mairon's jaw and neck, "what sort of master would I be if I could not satisfy even my most loyal servant?"

"The worst kind," Mairon says in a sigh, his head lolling to the side and baring more of him to Melkor.

A chuckle vibrates and rumbles across Mairon's chest, spurring little licks of heat from the piercings tugging at his flesh, fluttering the breath in his lungs.

"Then I will _please_ you, Mairon... But on one condition." The pit of his stomach drops out into a hollow _aching_ fear-- and perhaps it shows on his face, because Melkor is kissing him again, fiercely, heat pouring from his lips. "That you will not silence yourself. That I will hear all of your sweet, _sweet_ sounds, every moan and whimper. You will tell me what you want, how you want it."

The emptiness fills again, this time with _burning desire_.

"And I will have you screaming and _begging_ for more, and you will know that you are _mine_."

Heat lances through Mairon's loins, a sharp spike of arousal leaking onto his belly, and he groans into Melkor's mouth, kissing back with fervor. Wordlessly he tangles his hands in Melkor's hair, pulling him closer as though to relish this mere moment, so much more poignant than every other time he was wrapped around his master.

On a whim, Mairon presses his nose against the base of Melkor's horns, runs his lips over the ridges, breathing in the scent of carbon, wet stones, powdered bone. And it is Melkor's resounding _moan_ into the side of his neck that makes Mairon shudder. He does it again, fingers rubbing along the base of it, just like Melkor did to him-- and is rewarded with a similar reaction. Such a deep, _deep_ groan, heavy and sighing and just that touch of weariness that Mairon understands so well by now.

But Melkor is far less willing to give in so easily, and he surges upward, kissing openly and pressing his fingers to Mairon's lips at the same time, a thumb hooked into the side of his mouth to hold it open for his master's leisurely questing tongue.

"I _am_ yours," Mairon slurs around the fingers wedged into his jaw. He breaks away from Melkor just enough to take the fingers fully into his mouth, sucking greedily under the guidance of Melkor's hungry gaze. Swallows when they slip out, trailing wet lines down his chin. "Always. No matter what I say or do or believe."

He grabs onto a swept-back horn, holding himself in place while Melkor leans back to work his spit-slicked hand between them, twisting them in with a low sound of anticipation. In moments Mairon is gasping, biting his lip, his back arching clean off the wall and up against the Vala's waiting mouth.

Melkor has gotten _much_ better at finding that bundle of nerves, and Mairon admits as much with his mouth, burying his face into Melkor's shoulder and _moans_ , loud and clear, shaking in his master's arms. It's not like he hasn't had _anything_ in the ten years since, but with Melkor it's always different. Always _more_. Always--

" _Fuck_ , Mairon," Melkor growls into his neck, fingers scissoring against the clench of his walls. To which Mairon responds with an open-mouthed groan, hiking himself up higher, Melkor's fingers reaching deeper than ever before. "Let me see--"

Mairon whines in protest as he's lowered to the ground, scrabbling at Melkor's horns and trying to keep his hold on them. Another plunge of his fingers and Melkor's palm on his chest pushing him down does the rest, drags another harsh _noise_ from his throat that echoes so nicely amidst the grinding sound of his own nails digging into stone.

"Yes, _yes_ ," his master says softly, digging in even _deeper_ , and Mairon feels his vocal chords straining to a new pitch. "You look _beautiful_."

And all too soon he's left empty again, shivering; quiet pleas fall whispering to his chest, his head jerking away when Melkor pushes those fingers to his mouth once more. But then Melkor is kissing him, his tongue plying and prying at Mairon's lips, and he takes them in and suckles the faint ( _forbidden_ ) taste from his master's hand.

"You're all _red_ , Mairon." Melkor's laugh rushes warm over his face. His skin is simmering down to his shoulders-- not out of _shame_ or _embarrassment_ , but... "And how _lewd_ you've become, wanting for my fingers inside you... enjoying the taste of your own as-- ow!"

The Vala yanks his hand away with a glowing red indent on his knuckles, hissing. Mairon wraps his legs around Melkor's waist again, reaches out and drags him in, kisses him wet and hard. Hides a smile in the indignant sound Melkor makes against his mouth. 

"Shut up and fuck me, master."

He can almost _hear_ the fabric straining under the sudden jump of Melkor's cock-- or at least, he can hear _Melkor_ straining to press closer to him, the urgent _need_ in his otherwise threatening growl.

"It's been _too long_ , Mairon," Melkor says as he pulls himself past the drawstring of his pants. The mere feel of it slapping against the inside of his thigh makes Mairon jump, splay his legs wider over Melkor's lap. But Melkor doesn't push it, not yet. "I want to hear you... Tell me what you want."

"You already know-- _Melkor_!"

"I want you to tell me," the Vala purrs, nudging the head of him against Mairon's hole, but only just. "Do you recall, Mairon, what I said ten years ago, before you abandoned your post?"

"I did not _abandon_ \--"

"I want to see you _surrender_ yourself to me."

The words strike a chord in him; he does remember that day, that night. That time. Gemstones littering the ceiling.

"I want to hear you _beg_ , Mairon."

And he wants to retort, _this isn't about what **you** want_ , but he knows, _knows_ what good that will do ( _nothing_ ), and the building pleasure curls in his belly, ready to spit out those very words his master wants to hear, and

_light seeps through a crack on his neck, crawling across his throat like a virulent cave fungus, burns like a line of acid_

and he swallows those traitorous words. Swallows them the way one swallows a sword, swallows blood, hot and thick and metallic. Carefully. _Indulgently_.

"I will not _beg_ for your pleasure," Mairon hisses, and if words could cut there would be lines of molten red on his master's lips, and promises leaving gashes on his eyes. "I will not debase myself at _your whim_."

And still Melkor kisses him, softly, resplendently, and whispers,

" _I know_ , Mairon. I know."

He runs the tips of his fingers over the ridges of Melkor's face, along sharp cheekbones and a rigid nose, firm, full lips. A low-ridged brow, piercing eyes. Kisses him again.

And _grins_.

" _Gothmog_ , on the other hand..--"

He never finishes his sentence; Melkor shoves in too much, too fast, and whatever Mairon might have said is lost among the choked, _ringing_ bliss that shouts from him, a singular thrust jarring the very core of him.

"I told you not to make me _jealous_ ," his master snarls-- but it isn't threatening, it isn't malicious. Melkor is as delirious as he is, engulfing Mairon in his arms with crushing strength.

He is trapped, his voice shattering into the air, as every thrust of Melkor's hips bruises their claim into and past skin and flesh and bone, beyond the fabric of this world and into the next. And when Mairon says

_begs_

"Oh, _yes_ , fuck me _harder_ \--"

he means it.

And when he implores

"Melkor- _Melkor_ \-- you cannot _do_ that--!"

he is probably, most certainly asking for more of it.

There is a raw and painful _lurch_ of ecstasy in his loins, but it takes long, long moments before he can muster enough of _anything_ to say anything of it. It wiggles. It pries, it stretches, and Mairon comes to the conclusion that not only is Melkor's absurdly monstrous organ buried inside him, but so are several of his fingers. Hooked into the top of his hole, digging in against that _spot_ , that one cursed point of- of--

Mairon comes first. High, pitched, whining, _shaking_ , too wide and too open. His thighs spasm against Melkor's sides, toes curling, the whole of his back arching, clawing fissures into the ground. His seed sears a spray across his torso, steaming and fizzing as water does when it meets ice or liquid stone. He tastes it on his lips.

And Melkor is almost _belligerent_. Until Mairon realizes that the words scraping off his master's tongue aren't nonsense, but rather strings of archaic Valarin curses, foreign even to Mairon's ears and mind. And yet they are no less _evocative_. He doesn't have to know what they mean to know what they _mean_ , because Melkor is still moving, still fucking into his clenching body, fingers wedged in such a way that every rolling _beat_ leaves him gaping breathlessly, trembling, _whispering_.

He wonders, just for a moment, when Melkor pulled away enough to avoid the spurt of his climax. Why he's pressing back in again, smearing the seed between them as he comes with a quaking _roar_ and a gushing torrent of scorching heat and _need_.

And Mairon is _whimpering_. Melkor's hand now has his twitching, leaking cock and balls in a clawed grasp, nothing but a thumb hooked into and pulling on his already spent entrance with every thrust. The sounds of their fucking dies down to a lewd murmur, a gentle rasp of skin against skin, until all he hears is their labored breathing mingling with the quiet bubbling magma beyond them.

He pries his eyes open and looks upon a ripple in the lake for just a moment, still dazed from the overstimulation.

Then Melkor is turning him around, over, just gently, onto his knees. Mairon has barely time to think about the cuts and scrapes he'll have to close up later before Melkor pushes into him again, a long, slow _slide_ filling him back up. Something drips and splashes dully just beneath them; Mairon ducks his head down and sees white sticky fluid trickling out not from his cock, but from further back. And with every time Melkor sinks back in, more and more of it squishes out of him like mud between toes.

It's almost mesmerizing to watch.

Until a loud _smack_ shakes him out of his thoughts, and through his muffled gasp and the clench of his abdomen, Melkor's grunt of appreciation, he watches his master pull out half-way and the thick spurt of white that spills onto the ground.

"What are you- _doing_ \-- Melkor-!"

"Discipline, Mairon," the Vala says throatily, kneading the reddening flesh. Mairon's head comes up and he twists around- or tries to, for a sudden thrust to rub inside him just enough to send him back down, gasping wetly.

Another smack and his head falls down, a groan gusting onto his arms braced against the ground. Looking over his shoulder, Melkor watches him with the same intensity Mairon would have at the forge, carefully inspecting his piece and deciding where exactly to land the blow of his hammer to shape it perfectly. And that is exactly what Melkor does.

"Count for me now, lieutenant."

And he does, if only because the strikes keeps coming and Melkor still looks rabidly hungry. And every slap increases in force, until the tenth one wrenches a yelp from him, the back of his thighs coated in Melkor's leaked seed. His legs are shaking again, fighting to stay upright when the stinging of his backside makes it more than a little difficult.

" _Ten_ ," Melkor breathes out, palming the small of his back in a silky slide of skin against skin, until Mairon's chest is pressed to the ground and Melkor's hand is settled over the back of his neck. "One for every year you have been absent from my side."

He starts moving again, rocking, and Mairon is hard again within seconds. Yes, this position is _much_ better.

"Now, Mairon-" The pace quickens, but only just barely. Just enough for his breath to skip a few beats. "-Tell me how many times you have lain with Gothmog."

And to the slow gentle rhythm of Melkor's hips, upsurge of hissing and bubbling from the lake, Mairon near sobs and starts again.

one. _two_. three.

_four_

seven

_nine_

 

 

At some point he becomes aware of the fact that he's no longer counting.

 

He might have lost feeling in the left side of his bottom.

 

Melkor's breath is right next to his ear, his knees and elbows and chest are all but scraped raw, and the Vala is coming inside him again. Only when he finishes does Mairon realize the dull, muted, _stilted_ rumbling was not, in fact, the ground, but Melkor. And that the higher note being sung was not his ears ringing, or the wind whistling, but _himself_. His own wavering, moaning, tremulous cries.

Because there is an steady _silence_ afterwards that aches in his limbs. A second climax, maybe even a third, has torn through his gut, leaving his flesh-form addled and his thoughts disjointed. And from what he can glean through their connection, Melkor is the same.

"...I need another bath," Mairon says eventually, hoarse, but sounding far more lucid and clear-headed than he feels at the moment.

As if a testament to it, Melkor only grunts in response, barely shifting.

The hand on his neck is still there, but no longer exerting any force. There is only Melkor's weight on his back, and _that_ he _can_ push up on, just enough to get his master moving.

"Don't you.. _dare_ \--" Melkor slurs out heavily, "--dare say you have to.. to work.."

"And if I did?"

"I'll f.. fuck you again. 'Til you can't work. Or walk."

He can't even laugh. Just angles himself in a way that Melkor will slide off and onto his back on the ground, both of them groaning as Melkor's cock slides out with a slick sound. The Vala's loins are as stained with seed as Mairon's backside _feels_. Makes him wonder for a moment just how much is still inside him now.

Melkor does laugh, though, upon seeing Mairon slowly getting to his feet, and he looks _very_ satisfied of himself.

"Look at you, Mairon.." He's grinning, roguish and devilish. "Stuffed so full.. you can barely move."

"My ass is numb," is all Mairon can say in retort. It's starting to tingle. Melkor laughs again.

He manages to make it over to the lake and slip in before any more leaks out. Leans back against the ledge and sighs for the heat instantly easing his muscles, soothing the scrapes and cuts on his knees. Not long after, Melkor is crouching behind him.

"Clean me off while you're at it."

From the sound of it, he's mostly lucid as well.

"Clean _yourself_ off."

"Mm, but I can't reach down there," Melkor says lightly. A pair of slicked fingers circles around and presses against his lips, insistent and teasing. Mairon doesn't need to smell it to know where that came from. "And I know you like the taste.."

Resigned, he takes them slowly into his mouth and sucks them clean, just like before; but he turns his head away when Melkor tries to feed him some more.

"I am _full_ , master." Mairon sinks lower into the magma with a splash, laughing quietly at the dismay on Melkor's face. "Perhaps next time you will not fill me up with so much, so soon."

Melkor huffs out a breath and wipes his fingers off on the ground. Even without looking, Mairon can tell his master is already considering that _next time_.

"..Did you really fuck Gothmog that many times?"

 _Of course not_ , he wants to say, to reassure his master. Instead he says, "I just wanted to see how many times you were willing to strike me there."

But his tone is light, so when Melkor snorts, he probably didn't take it seriously.

"Will you come back, then?"

Mairon stops just before he's submerged, turning just enough to look over his shoulder and up at Melkor, at the strange, _strange_ expression on his visage. And he considers it. For a long, long moment.

"..I can do my work just fine from down here." He shrugs a speckled shoulder, the heat spreading subconsciously over his back. "And the company is better. Gothmog and his Balrogs come often..."

His innuendo is not lost on the Vala. Melkor's face grows stony and he surges forward, hooks both arms under Mairon's and heaves him out of the lake in one fell swoop. Molten heat splashes over the both of them, and Mairon will never admit to the muffled _shriek_ he lets out when Melkor throws him over his shoulder, one arm around his waist.

" _Melkor_ \--!" Mairon's face and back are aflame, crackling into glowing fissures as he tries to twist free. "What are you-- _where_ are you taking me?!"

"To your private baths, lieutenant. I know you have one," his master snarls, low and deep, and brings his palm down over the unmarked skin with a ringing smack (and a stuttered cry from Mairon). "I'm going to fuck you some more until you scream and beg for _mercy_."

With his fate sealed, Mairon mutely watches the two lakes receding back into the room as they head for the tunnel leading out of the cavern. He swallows and thanks the powers above that his room and private baths are just down the main corridor. Hopes that no one else _happens_ to be visiting this unused area of Utumno.

And as they round the bed, he sees a number of flame-topped heads surface from the lake of magma, each bearing an impressive set of sweeping horns. Each with eyes widened in varying degrees of what Mairon can only imagine to be shock and arousal.

He swears quietly under his breath. Gothmog will never let him live this down now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we've reached the anti-climatic end =u= (is that a _sequel_ i smell??)
> 
> and since i'm not sure if it makes itself apparent in the fic-- i chose this title as a play on 'independence' and 'in dependence', as in 'in love'. they are independent of each other... but also in dependence _with_ each other. unhealthy evil codependent relationships, weh. but i think this piece was just too focused on blatant porn to have more than an inkling of side-plot.
> 
> regardless!! that was fun. thank you everyone for sticking it out for this long hehHAHA. bless you all for reading this trash and being trash with me. let's do it again.


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